Sandcastle Beach (Matchmaker Bay #3) - Jenny Holiday Page 0,17

The pizza was what had started this all. When Law had first started thinking about adding a limited menu to the taproom—which had been literally that, a taproom, in all the time his father and grandfather had run it—he’d done a ton of research and had decided to focus on one thing and to do it well. He’d settled on wood-fired Neapolitan-style pizza and built the oven out back. His father had been skeptical, but it had taken off dramatically, spreading through word of mouth and earning a spot in a recent Globe and Mail article on Ontario’s hidden culinary gems. Hence all the random Miss Louisiana Teen USA 1989 tourists.

So after the pizza, he’d started noodling. Before he knew it, he was researching how to write a business plan and enrolling in an online college course. As he learned the business side of things, his idea started taking more concrete shape. A restaurant with a streamlined menu. The pizza he was already known for, and a couple pastas. One featured meaty dish and one vegetarian, changing depending on what was in season. Farm-to-table, but without using the phrase farm-to-table, because that was obnoxious. He even had a name: Lawson’s Lunch.

But…“Maybe I should just expand the food offerings at the bar. I could easily start serving sandwiches here,” he said, aware that he was talking to himself as much as to his friends. He did sandwiches outside on a press during the town’s festivals, and they were always popular. Adding sandwiches to the bar permanently would be a logical next step.

“Nah,” said Sawyer. “We’ve been over this. You don’t have the space to do sandwiches here unless you rip out a chunk of this beauty to expand the kitchen.” He stroked the polished cherrywood bar that had been Law’s grandpa’s pride and joy. “And that would be a crime.”

It was true. Aside from the fact that there was no way Law was hacking into this bar, there was only so much he could do incrementally here. He’d thought about doing a more dramatic reno. He didn’t mind closing for a week or two, but for what he wanted to do, he’d have to shutter for a season. Lawson’s Lager House was a community institution that had provided an unbroken line of service spanning three generations. Closed only one day a year—Christmas Day. This was where people had gathered on September 11. Hell, his grandfather had held a V-Day celebration at Lawson’s Lager House. Law had been over this all. Why was he mentally rehashing it now?

“And you got the loan,” Sawyer said. “Doesn’t that mean the bank thinks the idea is solid?”

“I guess, though I’m not sure I would loan me money.”

He’d been joking, but Jake scowled. “If you don’t want to do the restaurant, don’t do it. But don’t sell yourself short like that, man.”

Jake’s calling him out was sobering. In addition to being the strong, silent type, Jake didn’t have a high threshold for bullshit.

All right. Law huffed out a breath. Apparently he was doing this. “The next big thing is location. I’m going to ask Eiko about the newspaper building.” His business plan had factored in the cost of renting and renovating the ground floor of one of the buildings on Main Street, and the Moonflower Bay Monitor building next door would be ideal. “She keeps talking about retiring, and even if the paper carries on beyond her, I don’t think they need that much space anymore. I was thinking maybe I could get her to move the newsroom upstairs, and I could take over the main floor.” The building had housed the town newspaper since the late nineteenth century, when it had been typeset and printed on-site. Today, Eiko was the newspaper, along with a part-time reporter, and the Monitor was designed digitally and printed off-site. “The pizza oven out back could do double duty.”

“Oh no, no, no. Do not tell Eiko,” Sawyer said. Jake conveyed the same sentiment by shaking his head vigorously. “Not if you want the plan to stay under wraps.”

Law did want to keep things quiet as long as possible. Not that any of the old folks in town were going to be anything less than delighted with the new place, but they also wouldn’t be able to resist sticking their noses in everything. He’d thought, though, that maybe there was a way to approach Eiko alone. “I was thinking about how Eiko’s a journalist, right? Doesn’t she have to follow a